106a
by SomeNavyRecruit
Summary: He bent low, pushing the gun deeper into the man's mouth, into his throat. He nuzzled lightly, nibbling on an ear before biting, hard enough to bleed.     "I just want you to die, Ivan."


_This was my second attempt at a Hetalia fic, now **revamped** with the usual style I've since established and also **edited**. _

More information about the title is at the bottom. Please enjoy dark!America and perv!Ivan ;D

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia nor condone random acts of violence. That's what sports and shooting ranges are for.

**xXx**

Russia glanced curiously at the three videos and three corresponding medical reports spread in front of him, wondering what they could be. He didn't know who had sent them or what they were about, aside from a cryptic '106a' written on the package they'd come in. Each video had a year written on it and each report seemed to go along with each year. A video of someone getting hurt, then?

He shrugged lightly and popped the oldest date into his laptop, sitting back in his seat and waiting to see what came up.

**xXx**

_America stood in front of a person strapped to a plain wooden chair. His glasses glinted in the dim light, facing the camera while the tied up male had his back to the device. He didn't move or speak, but his stance was aggressive; aggressive in a terrifying, violent way that made the man unable to run tremble just the slightest bit._

"_Your name is Ivan?" America finally spoke, lips moving stiffly, fists clenched. The man flinched slightly but nodded, speaking in a heavily accented voice to the nation._

"_Yes. Ivan. What do you want with me?" Just as he finished asking America struck, quick as a snake. His fist collided with the human's face, strength unchecked as anger and frustration and confusion and fear and the need-to-win-this-damn-fucking-war all came up at once. _

_The human's head snapped to the side with a loud crack, teeth and blood spraying out while the jaw hung loose and shattered below a lolling tongue. The body immediately slumped. _

_America made a sound of disgust and flicked his wrist before he spat to the side, dislodging blood from his skin while showing contempt for the dead Russian in front of him. He turned away without a second glance or even a falter of remorse, speaking to someone off-camera._

"_Clean it up."_

**xXx**

Russia stared at the screen, heart thudding heavily in his chest, wondering if this was some kind of joke. Why would America kill one of Russia's people so heartlessly? Just for being called Ivan?

He hurriedly found the medical record that corresponded with the video, violet eyes quickly glancing over it. His eyes narrowed at what he read, tongue coming out to trace his upper lip slowly as he read the details.

Ivan Kuznetsov, age 24.

He skipped across the other trivial details such as the man's gender, hair and eye color, his height, weight, blood type and where he was born. Russia's eyes traveled down to the list of injuries and cause of death.

12 missing teeth, nearly all the rest loosened and barely in place. An utterly destroyed lower jaw, completely ripped off the hinge on the side America's fist made contact. A snapped neck and...apparently his skull had spun so fast the brain had rotated within the confines of bone, bruising the organ and twisting the spinal chord. It sounded painful and gruesome and...so not like America.

More like...Russia.

Looking over at the other movies, the Russian picked up the next closest date and put it in, wondering what was going to come up on the computer screen this time.

**xXx**

_America stood in front of a man tied to a wooden chair. The room was well lit and there appeared to be a mirror all along the wall to the nation's right side. The blond stared down coldly, arms crossed and teeth clenched tight._

"_Your name is Ivan?" America asked, fingers tight on his bomber jacket while his blue eyes bore into the other. The Russian before him made a grunting noise of acknowledgment but didn't otherwise speak._

"_Tell me, Ivan." America spoke in a deadly whisper, stepping closer and reaching down. He gripped the man's shirt and yanked him upwards, nearly lifting the larger body right off the ground one handed, chair and all. As it was the human's feet scraped the floor along with the front chair legs, the back legs raised up. "What the hell do you think you're doing, spying on me?"_

"_I wasn't spying." The human replied, fear creeping into his voice as he realized just how strong the crazy blond in front of him was. Who the hell could just casually lift a full-grown man with one arm? Especially one that was 5 inches taller and probably a good deal heavier? "I wasn't doing anything wrong!"_

"_Don't lie to me!" America's grip slid from cloth to flesh, long fingers wrapping around the column of throat and lifting up. Blunt nails dug into suddenly straining muscles as he held the man up by the neck. "You fucking Russian scum! I know they sold secrets to you! I know they did!"_

_He threw the man across the room as easily as he'd throw a baseball, the chair and man impacting against a wall off-camera but making such a loud sound of cracking wood that it was obvious what had happened to the chair. _

_The American stalked over to the place the man had landed. All that could be seen of him was a side view of his back, the numbers on the familiar jacket flashing as the nation bent over. There was the sound of wood sliding across the floor and then America held still above the man._

"_I know about the spy ring. I know that you've been decoding my naval messages. **I know.**" America's whisper was harsh and brutal, punctuated by the heavy collision of wood to flesh. A thick splatter of red bloomed through the air in an arch above America's shoulder, falling down across his back and into his hair. _

"_I know what you've been up to, Ivan." America cooed, suddenly stepping back into the cameras main view, dragging the human with him by the hair. The man was bleeding heavily, both from the blow he'd taken from the chair leg America held in his hands and from the initial impact with the wall. _

_Ivan was talking, but he'd dissolved into Russian and the language only seemed to infuriate the blond. _

_Tossing him unceremoniously to the ground, America then straddled him. His back was to the camera; the 50 speckled red. He raised the table leg up above his head and leaned in close to the human below him._

"_I fucking hate liars." The wood rotated within his grip, going from a bludgeon to a wooden stake, something he could stab with and destroy the bad things. The **evil **things. He brought the reddened leg down rapid fire, sinking it deep into the body below him before drawing back. _

"_I fucking hate liars." He whispered again, and again drove the table leg into the human. Blood spurted heavily from the hole when it was retracted, but America didn't care. He was just so sick and tired of fucking **Russia** and his fucking **communism **and the way his people, his **American people** kept fucking **betraying him**. _

"_**I fucking hate liars!**" America screamed it this time. His arm became a blur of brown and red, rearing back before plunging down, again and again, over and over. Eventually the wood broke and he was punching holes in a corpse with his fist, brutalizing the flesh while his breathing became ragged. _

_When he stopped it was sudden. _

_If he'd gone until he got too tired for it he would have beaten the body into a bloody mush. Instead he simply stopped punching mid-swing, stood up, and spat on the corpse. _

"_I fucking hate you, Ivan." America whispered softly, blood dripping from his knuckles and streaking scarlet through his hair. Red completely coated the 5 on his back but only slashed randomly across the top of the 0._

**xXx**

Russia sat back in his computer chair and didn't bother reading the medical reports for Ivan Volkov. Knowing Alfred's super strength the man had likely sustained many broken bones and ruptured organs and god knows what else. He didn't need to know every little medical term for the havoc wreaked on his citizens flesh.

He was feeling an odd mix of emotions from the video. Judging from the dates, if they could be trusted, this was America during the Cold War. He was hurting innocent people. Torturing Russians who happened to hold the same name as their nations avatar at the time. It was despicable.

Yet...seeing how desperate and enraged Alfred was...knowing that it was because of him the great hero had sunk so low...that he'd instilled that sort of _fear _within the American...it made his blood pump harder and for some reason he was actually feeling a tingling in his groin.

Alfred covered in blood. Alfred swinging that wooden leg around like a club. Snarling, crazed Alfred. Alfred screaming in pain and fear.

_Alfred screaming his name._

An involuntary shiver rolled its way down his spine and Russia had to wonder if it was reactions like this that made the other countries shrink away from him. Not that it mattered to him all that much. The savage brutality Alfred was capable of was just so...he wanted to come against that anger, that strength, and he wanted to own it. To dominate. To feel the pain of Alfred's fist knocking his teeth out, spinning his skull and bruising his brain and to give it back tenfold.

He cautiously put in a third video and tried to ignore the building speed of his pulse.

**xXx**

"_Ivan, is it?" America asked softly, standing with his back to the camera, obscuring the person he was addressing. The 5 on his jacket was slightly darker than the 0; and there was a strange streak across the top of the second number._

"_Da." The man's voice is cool and level. Completely not expecting to be killed in this room. The American's are too weak for such heartless measure._

"_Tell me, Ivan." Alfred began, mimicking how he'd addressed the other Ivan from years earlier. He circled behind the man, trailing fingers across a pale cheek and through blond hair, completely ignoring how the foreign man tried to lean away from the contact. _

_He stopped behind him and bent forward, pressing his cheek against the other man's while a sly smirk curled his lips. He pulled out a gun, holding it forward for the other to see, the light glinting off its surface._

"_Do you ever play Russian Roulette?" America asked. The man remained stoic, unable to see the mad gleam within America's blue gaze. The blond wasn't deterred, rubbing his cheek against the human's before pressing the gun to his prisoner's knee and pulling the trigger. _

_The man exploded into angry Russian, cursing the blond and demanding to know what the fuck he thought he was doing. America ignored it all and pointed the gun at his other knee. _

"_I asked you a question, Ivan." He lifted up a little and rest his lips against the man's slightly sweaty temple. He cocked the gun nonchalantly. "Answer it."_

"_Nyet! Nyet, I do not play it!" The human answered quickly, not wanting to be shot again, his earlier resolve fading fast when put up against such needless cruelty. Just what did the American want to accomplish, shooting him for no reason like this?_

"_Too bad." America pulled the trigger again and stood up without a care, gripping the corner of the chair and pulling it with him as he circled back in front of the camera. He turned the chair so that the human's back was to the camera and faced the man, pointing the gun at his face this time._

"_I'm going to kill you, Ivan." America stated flatly. He stepped forward, not lowering his gun as he approached the other. His eyes were cold and hard, the gun glinting again while his glasses shined in a menacing way._

"_Wh-why? What does that accomplish? I thought you wanted answers out of me!" The human sounded panicky, voice only rising higher as the blond slid into his lap, straddling him. Fingers slid into his hair and gripped, holding his head steady while the gun was forced into his mouth._

"_I don't need answers from you, Ivan." America breathed the words, stroking the soft hair between his fingers. He adjusted his seat, the motion an obscene roll of his hips as his lips tilted into a smug grin. "I don't **need **anything from you, Ivan."_

_He bent low, pushing the gun deeper into the man's mouth, into his throat. He nuzzled lightly, nibbling on an ear before biting, hard enough to bleed. _

"_I just **want** you to **die,** Ivan."_

**xXx**

Russia's breathing was ragged as he watched the blood and brain and bone explode out, a hand massaging himself through his clothing unconsciously as he watched his computer screen. His breath hitched when the bullet came bursting out in and explosion of brain and blood and went straight for the camera, lodging into the wall or table or whatever held the thing up.

So close...so close to being shot...

Oh Alfred...

Russia turned away from the screen and unzipped his pants, uncaring about the lewdness of it, the desecration of those men that had died for him in a sick and indirect way. Those men had _died_ by Alfred's hands.

Alfred's bloody, greedy, capitalist hands.

Hands that should be broken and burnt and ground into the snow beneath his boots.

Blood stained, tanned fingers. Hard and cruel, hooked like talons around the handle of a knife. Calloused from the trigger.

Wrapped around his cock.

"Mmm..." Russia gave a soft moan, hand tugging at the swollen, sensitive flesh. He imagined the blond at his worst, torturing humans, beating them to a pulp with his inhuman strength. He shivered from the blood-lust that thought incited and stroked faster, biting his lower lip and closing his eyes.

The flash of a gun and the rush of a bullet towards the camera...towards _him_...

"_I just **want **you to **die, **Ivan."_

The words echoed through his head, his hand squeezing hard enough he groaned. His legs spread, free hand reaching down into the folds of his coat to caress his ever present faucet pipe. He remembered swinging the metal just the way Alfred swung the wood; the comparison made his toes curl enticingly.

"_I just **want **you, Ivan."_

With a final grunt he came, the American's name spilling past his lips on a rumbling moan that turned into a snarl on the last spurt of pleasure. He leaned back in his chair and relaxed, hand still cupping himself as he opened his eyes to slits and turned his attention back to the videos and medical reports.

The only date that seemed significant to him off the top of his head was 1985; the year one of the Soviet's best spys was arrested. The memory of it made him smile bitterly; he remembered how fun it had been, translating Alfred's secrets up until that point.

Wheels turning in his head he reached for his drawer, pulling out some tissues to clean up. He'd have to call Alfred and try to figure out just what these videos were about and who had sent them.

He'd also be checking to see if the 5 was still darker than the 0.

**xXx**

106A is the UCMJ article for espionage. In 1985 (also known as the year of the spy for how many were arrested) John Anthony Walker was arrested for having sold codes to the Soviets for years. The codes allowed the soviets to decode what is estimated to be more than 1 million messages. One Russian official has been noted saying that if the Cold War had become a real war, the soviets would have won because they were reading all the top secret messages passed around the American military.

The 80's had a lot of spys' actually so it's more like the decade of the spy. I'd imagine this would seriously freak Alfred out and that's kinda why I wanted to write this. When I learned about the walker case it made me seriously mad. Two life sentences is not enough IMO but whatever.

As always, review if you enjoyed this! Even if this is your second time around ;D


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